


Such a Constellation Was He to Me

by jyuuichiban



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Atsumu has a staring problem, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Getting Together, In a way, M/M, Pining, Sort of? - Freeform, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 01:21:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30114966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jyuuichiban/pseuds/jyuuichiban
Summary: Sakusa has quietly been getting a number of odd tattoos, and Atsumu wants a closer look. Sakusa obliges him.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 162





	Such a Constellation Was He to Me

*****

The first time he saw one of them, it was a brief flash. Later that night, Atsumu would question if he’d really even seen anything, or if it had just been a trick of the stadium lights combined with post-game exhaustion and the elation of winning. He was walking off the court behind his team, waving absently at fans as the Jackals made their way to the locker rooms. Even though they’d managed to win in straight sets against the Hornets, they’d gone to nearly 30 points with each one. Sweat was dripping down to the small of his back, the slide of each drop making him more and more grateful that the fan event had happened prior to the game, and that no social obligations were standing in between him, a hot shower, and facetime call full of gloating to Sunarin, who was still sore about losing to the Hornets last week.

Someone in the stands called out in a particularly shrill voice that cut through the general din of the crowd. “Sakusa-senshu!” Sakusa, who was walking briskly in step with Atsumu, waved dutifully while maintaining his march out of the stadium, never taking his eyes off the doors that would be his escape.

Always the professional, Atsumu thought to himself, adding that interaction, if it could even be considered one, to the ever growing list of ways he’d seen the man be as dismissive as possible without technically being impolite. He looked over at his spiker, and his eyes caught on something. On the inside of Sakusa’s right arm was a thin line leading out of his sleeve to a prominent freckle, and then a second line leading back under the jersey. A short little triangle that would have been almost invisible had Atsumu not been right next to him. 

In the week that followed, Atsumu tried to catch another glimpse of it, just to make sure that it wasn’t something he’d imagined. It took several days of trying, subtle glances at Sakusa whenever he could, but it was hard to look at someone’s inner arm without being weird about it, and most of the time it was covered in a long-sleeve compression shirt. 

He got his chance the following Thursday at the Black Jackals gym. 

“Miya, come spot me,” Sakusa said, cornering Atsumu at the water fountain. 

That morning had been a short practice on court, mostly drills, and now the afternoon was dedicated to free weight lifting and cardio for a few hours as mandated by the coaches. Everyone had something to work on, recommended to them specifically by the team trainers. For Atsumu it was legs, a favorite of his; and much to the delight of Atsumu, Sakusa was working on arms and chest. He was wearing a loose Waseda tank top and basketball shorts, a combo that made his limbs seem incredibly long, more like a college frat boy than the wealthy heir to the Sakusa family— well whatever it was that his family had that made them rich.

“Thought ya always had Tomás spot ya?” Atsumu said, pulling a long drink off of his water bottle. He’d finished with his own stuff for the day and was trying to plan a way to trick Osamu into making dinner.

“He’s with the trainer, something about his fingers.” A tiny pout crossed Sakusa’s face, just the briefest purse of his lips and scrunch of his eyebrows, as if Tomás was forcing him to find a new spotting partner out of spite rather than happenstance. 

“What’s wrong with his fingers?” Atsumu asked, fiddling with the hem of his shirt and feeling acutely aware of the soreness in his thighs.

“Do I look like the trainer, Miya?” Sakusa huffed, his pout giving way to exasperation. “Just spot me, I want to finish up properly and go home.”

“Why, got big plans?” 

Sakusa looked unamused. “Nevermind, I’ll ask someone else,” he said flatly, scanning the room for anyone that might be free. A chunk of his hair had started spilling over his eyes and he pushed it out of his face while he searched, obviously displeased with his options. His clothes rustled, and finally, Atsumu saw them, the tiny lines on Sakusa’s arm. 

“Alright, Omi-kun, alright. Whatever ya want,” Atsumu rushed out. He didn’t want to tease too much in case he lost his chance to finally inspect Sakusa’s arm, no matter how satisfying it was pushing his buttons and seeing microexpressions dance across his face.

He followed obediently to the chest press bench in the back corner of the room and watched Sakusa add weights onto the bar. 

“S’not really all that much, Omi-Omi,” he needled, giving up on his two minute old resolution to not tease his wing spiker. 

“I’m going for reps, not weight,” Sakusa said flatly. 

“Mm, that’s what they all say, innit?” Atsumu arched his eyebrow. “S’not the weight that matters, it’s what ya do with it, right?” He snatched the Lysol wipes from a nearby table and began methodically wiping down the bench for his spiker.

“I’m not worried about my current strength. I’d try beefing up, but there’s only one slot on the roster for a hulk and Bokuto already claimed it.” He slid the collar onto the bar to keep the weights from falling off.

“He’s still getting beat out by Ushiwaka though,” Atsumu continued to prod, for no reason other than twenty six years of being a twin and that he could. “An’ yer not even close to Bokkun.”

“Why would I even try to be stronger than Ushijima-san? It’s not like they’re going to start calling me Japan’s Cannon. Everyone’s getting beat out by him, the man could bench a smart car.”

“I’m just sayin’, even I press more than this, an’ I’m not a spiker.”

Sakusa’s forehead creased, a frown pulling down at one corner of his mouth. “You use your arms, don’t you?” he muttered, and walked rigidly over towards the weight rack. “What’s your record?”

“120 kilos.” Atsumu felt smug. He wasn’t even really into chest presses, but he knew his weight was nothing to sneeze at.

“Very well,” Sakusa said, and after a moment that was probably filled with a little mental math, he began stacking more weight onto the bar. When he sat down on the bench, Atsumu tallied up the weights. It would be about 125 kilos if he’d looked correctly. 

“Sure ‘bout this, Omi-kun? Have ya done this much before?”

“Never mind that, just spot me.” Sakusa answered coldly, his back turned as he inspected Atsumu’s cleaning job. It must have been satisfactory, because he combed his hair out of his face and over his head with his fingers, then laid back on the lightly padded bench. 

That was when he finally had it, an unobscured view of the fine lines that were carefully etched onto Sakusa’s bicep. It was hard not to stare, but the way that Sakusa gripped the bar put it on full display. It was like the thinnest marker had drawn an odd V with a circle on his inner arm, a symbol that Atsumu didn’t recognize but entranced him all the same. He kept his eyes trained on it as Sakusa’s arms worked up and down, steadily pacing through the set. 

“Quit looking at me like that,” Sakusa snapped, looking up at Atsumu, his face red from the effort of pressing. Atsumu pulled the bar back onto the rack at the top of Sakusa’s lift, belatedly realizing that the angle at which Sakusa currently saw him was probably not the most flattering. 

“Not lookin’ at ya like anythin’,” Atsumu lied, trying and failing to pull his eyes away from the rosiness that painted Sakusa’s cheeks.

“You’re looking at me like you’re surprised I could lift that much,” Sakusa challenged, breathing heavily. He sat up abruptly, twisting on the bench to look Atsumu in the face properly. “Don’t insult me, I just beat your record.”

“Ya sure did, Omi, congrats.” Atsumu couldn’t think of a comeback, could only watch, entranced, as a bead of sweat grazed over the moles on Sakusa’s forehead and disappeared into a heavy eyebrow. 

A low whistle from Meian broke their stare-off. “Whew, that’s a lot for you, Sakusa-kun, nice work.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“Gonna take a lot more than that to beat the team record though,” Meian continued, unaware of the tension he was lifting. “I think Barnes is up in the 140s.”

“Bokkun is getting up there, I think,” Atsumu said, looking at the ground. Sakusa had begun diligently wiping down the bench and it was taking everything in Atsumu’s power to not stare at the tattoo on his arm. 

“Yeah, don’t I know it,” Meian continued, amiably. “I used to think I had a decent chance at getting close to Barnes, but I think it’s just always gonna be out of my reach. Anyway, keep it up.” With that he clapped Atsumu on the back, gave Sakusa a thumbs up, and wandered to some other corner of the gym to continue his captainly rounds.

“Thanks for the spot.” Sakusa didn’t look at Atsumu while he re-racked the weights, arms trembling ever so slightly after exerting themselves so much. 

“Any time, Omi-kun,” Atsumu replied. “Real nice work.” 

Sakusa gave a non-committal grunt of recognition as he wiped his face off with a clean towel.

“Well, if you’re done with me I’m gonna hit the shower,” Atsumu said, turning towards the weight room’s exit. “By the way,” he added, allowing himself to look back over his shoulder at Sakusa, who’s black eyes were locked onto Atsumu, peeking out above the white terry cloth. “Nice ink.”

******

Two hours into the sweltering bus ride back to Osaka, Atsumu was drifting in and out of consciousness, the heat preventing him from truly falling asleep. The AC hadn’t been working for over half the ride, and everyone was in a bad mood despite their win against the Green Rockets. Atsumu was on the end of his row, legs spilling into the aisle in an attempt to get as much air circulating around him as possible. Tomás had claimed the window seat next to him, his face nearly hanging out the window like a golden retriever thrilled to be in the breeze. Across the aisle in their row, Hinata and Bokuto were locked in some sort of iMessage cup pong tournament with the Adlers and the Raijin. In front of them, Sakusa was in his own row, as was an unspoken tradition. 

Apparently Ushijima had been knocked out of the tournament early, and Bokuto had barely beaten his old teammate from Fukurodani. Though he’d been asked to play, Atumu declined. Suna had been beating him at any sort of gaming since their Inarizaki days, not that he’d admit it. Even he wasn’t so competitive that he’d welcome a public thrashing like that, and the heat was a convenient excuse for not wanting to play. 

It was no surprise when Hinata inevitably lost to Suna in the semifinals, but you’d think it had been Kageyama by the way he was pouting. He sighed loudly, tried to mess up Bokuto’s match against Hoshiumi, and then sighed some more. Atsumu was convinced he’d finally settled down after nearly ten minutes passed in silence, but he forgot that a silent Hinata usually meant something troublesome was about to happen.

“Oh, Sakusa-san, you’ve got a thread-” Hinata trailed off, hand hovering behind Sakusa’s neck like he was going to pluck at his collar. 

Sakusa either hadn’t heard Hinata or was ignoring him, but Hinata must have decided on his own that whatever was on the back of his neck was not his business. He sat back abruptly in his seat, jostling Bokuto on his way. It was almost amusing to watch the way Bokuto put the pieces together in his head, his face overly expressive as always, but more than anything it made Atsumu very, very intrigued. Bokuto looked at where Hinata sat, then at Sakusa’s neck. His eyes narrowed, screwed up in thought, and then realization visibly dawned on his face. 

“Omi-Omi, is that a tattoo?”

Sakusa spun around, body facing into the aisle, ruining Atsumu’s chances of seeing the tattoo.

“Are you talking to me?” he said as he pulled an earbud out of his left ear. His voice was a little husky and he blinked slowly, as if he’d been about to fall asleep.

“Nope!” Hinata answered quickly, at the same time that Bokuto said “Yep!” at an even louder volume.

“Alright, so one of you is lying and I bet it’s Hinata.”

“Lying is harsh! I’m trying to be polite!” Hinata squawked. “I thought you might be trying to hide it.”

“Hide what?”

“Your tattoo!” Bokuto blurted, eyes sparkling. 

“Oh, that.” Sakusa said, as if he was mentioning an interestingly shaped cloud or a nice shirt on a mannequin. “I’m not hiding it, it’s just in a weird spot.”

“Can I see it?” Bokuto asked earnestly. “I’ve always wanted a tattoo but I think my mum would cry.”

Sakusa obliged wordlessly, bending forward and reaching behind himself to pull down the neck of his shirt, a feat that would have been impossible if he weren’t so weirdly flexible. 

Hinata and Bokuto practically stood up, looking over the back of the seat and crowding around to see Sakusa’s neck. It was completely out of view for Atsumu, the angle all wrong and most of Hinata’s shoulder in the way, but that didn’t stop Atsumu from trying subtly to catch a little glimpse. He hadn’t seen more than a few freckles when Sakusa straightened back up and twisted in his seat again. 

“It’s just lines,” Bokuto spoke, anticlimactically.

“That’s correct,” Sakusa said with a smirk, and he looked over towards Atsumu as Hinata slapped Bokuto’s thick bicep.

“Every drawing is just lines, Bokuto-san,” Hinata hissed through his teeth.

“Yeah but these are straight lines.” Bokuto seemed unimpressed. “I have a friend at the JVA and he got this really cool one-”

“You can just say Kuroo, and we all know, he posted it on Instagram.” Sakusa spoke, unfazed by Bokuto’s lack of enthusiasm for his ink. 

“Who the fuck is Kuroo?” Barnes asked from the row behind Hinata and Bokuto, which launched the pair into a story about a high school training camp. 

Sakusa’s eyes slid from them and landed on Atsumu. He rolled them dramatically at the antics behind him, putting his earbud back in, and then fully turning to sit properly in his seat. And if Atsumu’s stomach swooped a little, he could tell himself it was because the bus had hit a pothole, rather than from whatever meaning one could extrapolate from a tiny, familiar glance from Sakusa.

*******

The existence of Sakusa’s tattoos should not have been that big of a deal. It wasn’t a big deal. Loads of people had tattoos; hell, Coach Foster had a surprisingly large back piece spanning his shoulders that had been on display at Meian’s pool party last summer. Yet the narrow, near invisible lines on Sakusa took up a surprising amount of space in Atsumu’s mind.

And yes, maybe Atsumu had harbored a soft spot for Sakusa for a while. Occasionally the memory of the youth training camp his third year would come to his mind unbidden. How someone had smuggled in sake, and that they’d all gotten drunk on the last night. How a drunk-for-the-first-time Sakusa had dozed on his shoulder. Komori had profusely apologized on Sakusa’s behalf, and they’d somehow swapped places on the couch without waking Sakusa so that Atsumu could get up and force Tobio-kun to drink some water. So whatever his feelings were, it was not so much carrying a torch as it was protecting a lit match. And if he’d been secretly thrilled when Sakusa had signed with MSBY, that was no business but his own. And, begrudgingly, ‘Samu’s, who had dealt with a number of near-unintelligible late night phone calls.

Infuriatingly, Sakusa didn’t even try to hide the third one. They returned from a bye week and there it was on the back of Sakusa’s right leg. The skin around it was still slightly red, wrapped up underneath a clear plastic bandage, which made it stand out all the more. 

It was an uncomplicated geometric design, nestled in between a cluster of freckles. Just a handful of lines just above the back of his knee on what had to be a very tender area. 

Atsumu watched it disappear as Sakusa pulled up his knee pads, but his gaze lingered too long and Sakusa caught him staring. 

“That hurt, Omi-kun?” 

“A lot, surprisingly. Didn’t think anything would be worse than the spine one,” Sakusa said conversationally, pulling up his other knee pad. 

“Probably gonna chafe like crazy under that thing,” Atsumu replied, throwing his arm across his chest in a stretch. “Let’s hope it doesn’t affect your play.”

Sakusa sat on the bench across from Atsumu and started pulling on his shoes, long fingers tying the laces quickly and efficiently. “Worry about yourself, Miya. I got more service aces than you in our last game.” 

“Omi, ya know it’s my job ta keep tabs on how my hitters are doin’. Just wanna make sure yer in tip top shape!”

“Well then, you be sure to keep an eye on my form then, won’t you?” Sakusa said. He stood up tall, leering down at Atsumu who suddenly felt very small from his seat on the bench. “Don’t skimp on warm ups, I want your best tosses,” he added, his authoritative tone leaving no room for argument. He made his way out to the court for practice, leaving Atsumu to contain the furious blush that threatened to take over his face.

********

Things were quiet for a while. The tightness Atsumu felt in his chest each time he caught a glimpse of Sakusa’s tattoos became less intense. Even though he had only seen slivers of them, his curiosity towards those subtle marks faded over time. Less and less frequently did he catch himself lingering after practices for no reason other than to see Sakusa for as long as possible. It was normal again. 

The relative peace was shattered one day in the locker room after a particularly grueling morning practice. Atsumu was styling his hair in a mirror, determined to not look like a drowned rat when he showed up to his mother’s house for her birthday dinner. He was on a bit of a time crunch, not wanting to dawdle; Osamu would be waiting at the shop for a ride and he’d be damned before he got chastised by his chronically late twin about punctuality. Inunaki leaned against the counter beside him, regaling him with his latest dating fiasco, and Atsumu reacted at what he hoped were the right parts.

“Another one, Sakusa-san?” Hinata’s voice rang out clear. 

Atsumu froze, staring past himself in the mirror to the scene playing out behind him. Sakusa stood tall as ever and fresh from the shower, water droplets falling from his curls and running lazily down his back. A pale blue towel was gripped in one hand around his waist loosely, loose enough for his left thigh to poke out from between the two ends of the terrycloth, and whatever was on that thigh had captured both Hinata’s and Bokuto’s attention.

Despite having his back turned, he felt like he had a front row seat to the action. His setter instincts took over, instinctually aware of his teammate’s locations: the way Inunaki had snapped his head around to look, that Barnes had come to stand next to Bokuto, and how Meian was pretending to not watch from his locker. 

“Yes, it’s fairly new,” came the clipped response from Sakusa. 

“Can I see?” Bokuto bounced over excitedly. 

Atsumu could not have predicted the slight nod that Sakusa gave, that he would turn to face Bokuto and Hinata and prop his foot up on the locker room’s bench. The slow movement ripped the sight of Sakusa’s back away from Atsumu’s vantage point in the mirror as the profile of his face came into view. The steam that had curled across the glass and the areas where it had been hastily wiped away worked in tandem to create fragments of detail coexisting with broad, hazy strokes of color like an impressionist painting. It felt like the light focused on them, Bokuto and Hinata leaning eagerly to look at Sakusa’s thigh, Sakusa’s pale face in sharp relief from the dark color of the Jackal’s black lockers behind him, the foggy portal turning his eyelashes into thick brush strokes of inky black. Atsumu swore that a single drop of water fell from a jet black curl, and Atsumu followed its descent as the pinkprick of reflected light landed on Sakusa’s exposed skin. 

“Aha!” Hinata said with a snap of his fingers, like some English detective in a murder mystery. “I figured it out. They’re constellations, aren’t they?” Hinata beamed as if he’d solved the world’s hardest puzzle. And he might as well have, as far as Atsumu was concerned, considering the amount of time he’d spent thinking about those lines without coming to that conclusion. 

Sakusa gave a near imperceptible nod. He flipped the towel back over his leg and straightened up with the flawless posture of an athlete. 

“I can’t believe I didn’t realize that before!” Hinata continued. “They really suit you! The freckles-” Hinata trailed a bit, flicking his eyes up Sakusa’s bare chest, then recovered. “It’s clever.”

Atsumu straightened up subconsciously too, his eyes following the line of Sakusa’s body where they’d been staring at his thighs, tracing up the naked torso and unfortunately meeting the eyes of the torso’s owner. Even the fogged up mirror didn’t mitigate the intensity of the challenging look. After a few tense seconds, Atsumu forced his eyes back to his own reflection.

He was flushed, cheeks colored a dark red that spread down his neck. His hair was a mess, half styled and gel dried from where he’d been distracted mid application. Atsumu cursed under his breath, and Inunaki next to him snorted quietly. 

“Someone got caught,” he said, chuckling under his breath. 

Atsumu just huffed, turning on the faucet with a little more force than usual and thoroughly rewetting his hair. If he was gonna make it to ‘Samu’s on time, he needed to leave in five minutes, but it was better to be late and lectured than ridiculed for fucked up hair. 

*********

Late in the V League season, a few weeks from playoffs, Atsumu had a realization: it had been a while since Sakusa had gotten a new tattoo. This, of course, didn’t _really_ matter; he had other, more important stuff going on. Like playoffs. Aran’s upcoming surprise birthday party. What to do about Kageyama’s increasingly nasty setter dumps. 

The surprise party, which wasn’t really a surprise at all by the time it ended up happening, was the night after a MSBY vs Falcons game in Tokyo. A game which the Falcons narrowly won, much to Atsumu’s chagrin. “That’s yer birthday present,” he’d said with a forced smile when he shook Aran’s hand under the net, but the two of them both knew he wouldn’t throw a game for a million yen, much less a birthday. 

The party ended up having a decent amount of V league players present, more and more RSVPing as the secret party became less and less secret. Suna helped plan, which meant that Komori was coming as well, and when Washio found out, he had asked if Bokuto was coming, and Bokuto got so excited that he blurted it out to Akaashi over facetime, who just so happened to have Kuroo Tetsurou of the JVA visiting him at the time, who boasted that he knew the perfect place for them to have the party.

That was how Atsumu found himself in the sprawling house of one Kozume Kenma, famous gamer CEO, or something. The host was nowhere to be found; the house however was huge, expensive, and in the quiet outskirts of Tokyo. In it, Atsumu was silently fuming at that evening’s loss, Kuroo was pouring liquors into a pitcher seemingly at random, and half of Division 1 was trying to flirt with Hinata Shouyou with varying degrees of subtlety. 

Atsumu got it, he really did. Hinata was the total package in a lot of ways. He’d had a crush on him in high school, which had faded out and then returned with a vengeance when Hinata had signed with the Jackals. However, after stumbling into the wrong hotel room the night of Hinata’s debut game against the Adlers, Atsumu decided to cut his losses. He didn’t stand a chance against whatever there was going on between Shouyou-kun and Kageyama, but it seemed like not everyone had gotten that memo. 

“It’s still very fun to watch,” Akaashi said, nodding slightly towards where Hinata was chatting with the Falcon’s very openly flirty libero. 

“Don’t know that fun’s the word,” Atsumu muttered into his drink. He had confined himself and his bad mood to the kitchen, joined against his will by Akaashi, Kuroo, and Tsukishima Kei. They were peoplewatching the party goers across the open concept living space through a kitchen hatch window, and Atsumu was waiting until it was late enough that he could return to the hotel without raising suspicion. 

“Oh it’s definitely fun,” Tsukishima chuckled, leaning heavily onto Kuroo beside him. “Still can’t believe people fall for his innocent looks. At least back in high school it was genuine, but now he’s a monster.”

“It was fun, that one training camp when you were first years,” Kuroo said, “Kenma and Lev both having an obvious crush and not knowing what to do about it, Hinata completely oblivious.” 

“You were the one with an obvious crush that year, Kuroo-san,” Akaashi said, sipping his drink pointedly. 

“You’ve got no room to talk!” Kuroo sputtered, jostling Tsukishima on his shoulder. “You and Bokuto were all over each other!”

“Technically not a crush if they were dating, is it, babe?” Tsukishima said, “Meanwhile you were just pining away--” 

“I wasn’t pining!” Kuroo said, indignant. “I was just, just, well, I was trying to be a good senpai!’ 

“Mmm yeah, that’s what it was then. My bad, I’m misremembering your confession to me then.”

“So Shouyou-kun and Tobio-kun weren’t high school sweethearts, then?” Atsumu interjected. 

“I mean, technically not,” Tsukishima said, straightening up a bit and taking a long drink from his glass. “Might as well have been, though. Don’t think either of them really realized it until about a month after Hinata left for Brazil.” He looked wistfully at his cup, swirling the liquid inside. “Which is kind of shit really, cause I had money on them not figuring it out until he got back.” He gave a pithy sigh. “But instead Yacchan walked away with the pot.” Another long swallow of his quickly disappearing drink. “Absolutely ridiculous, too. It’s like she’s got a sixth sense.”

“What about you, Miya-san?” Akaashi said, looking at Atsumu with his piercing, truth demanding stare. “Any tales of high school romance?”

“Well, I really loved this one girl from my class. Tall, dark curly hair, big black eyes,” Atsumu paused to pour himself another cocktail from Kuroo’s suspicious pitcher on the counter. “She wanted nothin’ to do with me, though,” he added chuckling. 

“Can’t imagine why,” Tsukishima snarked, “you were so personable in high school.”

“Yeah, well.” Atsumu gracefully ignored the jibe. “I s’ppose I did my fair share of pining for Shouyou, too. Hard not to when yer a setter.”

“Wouldn’t know,” Akaashi said loftily. 

“Oh shut up,” Kuroo said with a laugh. “What do you know of pining?”

“I pined for Koutarou!” Akaashi managed a little bit of fake hurt in his voice. 

“For three weeks!” Kuroo said, exasperated. “And then the second Bo realized he liked you he bought you a dozen roses and you’ve been dating ever since! ‘Kaash’, I love you but that is not pining. You’ve had over a decade of romance novel ass shit.”

“I won’t tolerate this slander,” Akaashi said in mock offense, leaving with a flourish. Moments later, Bokuto’s “Agaahshiii!” rang across the room. 

“Such a drama queen when he’s drunk, I swear,” Tsukishima rolled his eyes. 

“Miya,” Kuroo said, raising his glass, “You’re the only one who gets me. Here’s to pining.” 

“To pining,” Atsumu chorused, just in time for Suna and Komori to enter, Sakusa straggling behind them. 

“Who’s our lil ‘Tsumu pining for?” Suna said, helping himself to the mystery pitcher. 

“No one, Sunarin, we’re talkin’ ‘bout high school. ‘Sides, I’m older than ya, so shut it.” Being at the mercy of Suna’s taunts was a dangerous place to be. Especially when he definitely was pining, and for someone in the room no less. 

“Damn, I was hopin’ for something new to needle ya with.” He leaned back onto the counter. “Which one, Shou-kun, or that tall girl?”

Sakusa’s eyes narrowed at the mention of Hinata. “Really, Miya?” 

“Shut up yerself, Omi, s’like ten years ago.” No one needed to know about the crush on tan, post-Brazil, Shouyou. 

“Yeah, and that girl in our class was really more yer type anyway. What was ‘er name, Honda? Moto-kun you shoulda seen it, she was gorgeous, like dark curly hair, probably 180 cm, super aloof. She turned ‘Tsumu down so fast, was a running joke our whole third year.” Suna gestured wildly as he spoke, sloshing his drink over the brim of his cup. 

“Shuttup will ya?” Atsumu said, exasperated. “Or else I’m gonna show off the bald pics of ya from summer before high school.” 

Suna seemed to take this seriously. “That’s harsh, ‘Tsumu,” he said with all the soberness he could muster. “Ya jumped to extremes real fast. Ya bent outta shape ‘bout losing tonight?”

“Just try me. Ya know how much ‘Samu loves when I pull ‘em out. Maybe I’ll go find ‘im.”

Suna didn’t wait to find out. He left with a wave of his hand and Komori followed behind him, mouthing “text me” and typing on an air phone. It was always easier to manipulate Suna when he was drinking. For once he wasn’t the one with blackmail photos, but even just threatening them now would probably come back to haunt him.

Sakusa stayed behind. “Seems like the kitchen is a quiet spot.”

“Tell you what, it’s about to get quieter,” Kuroo said. “Because we,” he paused, and then booped Tsukishima on the nose, “are going to go fuck in one of Kenma’s secret rooms.”

Tsukishima pushed him away with disgust. “I’m breaking up with you.” But his words were rather unconvincing when he grabbed Kuroo’s wrist and dragged him down a dark hallway that led to an unexplored part of the sprawling house. Kuroo gave a wide grin as he was hauled away, a little two finger salute, and he was gone. Atsumu couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. 

“And then there were two,” Atsumu said, before he could stop himself. 

Sakusa hummed. “Didn’t I just say it was quiet in here, Miya? Don’t ruin it.”

Atsumu let himself be quiet. It was fine, better than thinking about high school, or crushes with dark curly hair. 

“So Shouyou, huh?” 

“Please, don’t,” Atsumu whined. “We could talk about literally anything else.”

“I’m just curious. What’s the appeal?” Sakusa was direct as always, so unlike how Kuroo or Suna laid traps with their questions. “Isn’t he kind of,” he considered his word choice for a moment, “a lot?”

Atsumu couldn’t help but laugh, louder than he meant to. Sakusa frowned. 

“You could just not tell me. It’s not like I didn’t already know that you had horrible taste.” 

“Aw Omi, don’t get mad, I’m not laughing _at_ ya. I just-” Atsumu didn’t know what. Sakusa wasn’t one to ask this sort of thing. He never bothered talking about relationships, never offered information about his own, so if this was something he wanted to talk about now, Atsumu would indulge him.

“I s’pose,” Atsumu continued, carefully, “aside from the whole wantin’ him to hit my sets thing, that I really liked how it felt like I was the only person in the world when I was talkin’ to him.” Sakusa nodded in understanding. “But then I kind of realized that was real selfish. Only likin’ someone for how they make ya feel and less for them.” He paused, and took a thoughtful drink, Sakusa mirroring him. “Plus I walked in on him topping Kageyama one time and figured it was never gonna happen.”

Sakusa fully spat out his drink, an event Atsumu would have bet tens of thousands of yen on the odds of never happening. 

“ _Why_ ,” Sakusa sputtered, “would you tell me that?” 

“Ya asked, didn’t ya?”

“About what you saw in him, not what you saw _of him!_ ” Sakusa swiped his face with a paper towel. 

“Believe me, I was also surprised t’ find out that my most versatile hitter was, well, verse.” Atsumu let himself grin a little. 

Sakusa let out a long suffering sigh. “I shouldn’t have bothered.” He knelt down to the floor and pulled out a cleaning spray from under the sink, slowly and methodically wiping up his spilled drink before it could get sticky underfoot. 

“That’s real thoughtful of ya, Omi. I bet Kozume is gonna have a hell of a time cleaning up tomorrow.”

“It’s the least I could do.” Sakusa moved on from the floors to the countertops, carefully cleaning the polished stone. Bent over the sink, the faint lines of his tattoo poked above the collared shirt he wore. 

“Say Omi,” Atsumu started, unable to tear his eyes away from Sakusa’s long neck. He got a small hum in response, which he took as an approval to continue. “How come ya’ve got all those tattoos?”

Sakusa took his time answering and Atsumu decided to press on. “S’just cause you always seem real traditional and well-” He let his question hang in the air and gave a little shrug. 

He got a squinty stare in response. 

“They’re personal to me. I got them to represent different things in my life, I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Ya don’t gotta be prickly like that, I’m genuinely curious! ‘Sides, I toldya ‘bout Shou-kun.” He couldn’t help but be affronted at the implication of not understanding the desire to commemorate things. 

“I’m not being prickly,” Sakusa said, frowning. 

“‘Course not. Everyone knows you’re very amiable,” Atsumu said in a gentle, sarcastic voice. That earned a small smile. “Whenever someone asks me, ‘Miya, who’s the least prickly person on the Jackals,’ I always say, ‘well, naturally, that’ll be Omi-kun, he’s such a joy to have--’” 

A small chuckle bubbled out of Sakusa, a rare sound that was probably in no small part due to the alcohol. “Enough, Miya, I get it.” The corners of his mouth turned up lightly.

“Ya are a joy to have though, ‘specially when ya dig those real nasty spikes and turn ‘em into such pretty A-passes. Nearly as good as Inunaki. Maybe better, but don’t tell ‘im that.”

“Oh good, be sure to put that on my report card, will you? I never got ‘joy to have in class’ before, but there’s a first time for everything.” Sakusa let out half of a laugh. 

The living room was getting louder and louder as Barnes and one of the Falcon’s hitters encouraged the group to start up karaoke.

“S’been a while since ya got a new one for yerself, though, huh? A tattoo, I mean.” 

“Not really, I got one like a month ago,” Sakusa said, casually shattering Atsumu’s peace of mind. 

“Ya-” Atsumu choked. “Ya got one a month ago? How come I haven’t seen it?” 

“It’s not really in a place I show off too much, Miya.”

Atsumu swallowed dryly. “Ah, okay. Right.”

The opening notes of the Evangelion theme started to filter through, Meian of all people at the mic. Sakusa gave an eye roll, something of a trademark for him that Atsumu found himself relishing. 

“Will you be joining them?” he asked, looking at Atsumu expectantly. 

“Don’t think so, ‘s not as fun if I can’t do it with Bokkun and he’s wandered off with ‘Kaashi-kun.” 

“It is about that time of night, isn’t it?” he said, musing. 

“What time?” Atsumu asked, glancing at the clock.

“The time where people start disappearing in pairs.”

Atsumu turned away to blush, using the convenient distraction of whatever madness was going on in the living room as an excuse.

“Well if you’re genuinely curious then,” Sakusa spoke up, almost an afterthought to their previous conversation, “I can show you the other ones more closely. I know you’re always trying to peek at them.”

Atsumu blushed even deeper, and the alcohol was only partly to blame. “Sorry, wasn’t tryin’ to be a creep or anythin’. I just think they’re cool.”

Sakusa hummed again, a light sound of assent. “I think so too.” He carefully plucked his cup from the counter, long fingers curling around the glass. “Let’s go see how big this place really is, hm? It’s getting too loud in here.” He turned away without waiting to see if he was followed. 

Atsumu drained his own drink, his head buzzing and blood thrumming as he watched Sakusa’s back. It had been ages of secretly yearning for this, and now it seemed too easy that Sakusa would offer to showcase his tattoos without any begging on Atsumu’s end, but he certainly wasn’t going to waste his chance.

The hallway that Kuroo and Tsukishima had disappeared down earlier seemed to lead to a whole other wing of the house. The left side was tall windows that faced a stony courtyard and allowed blue moonlight to paint the wood paneling of the opposite wall. Sliding doors were nearly invisible on the right, hidden along the seams of the panelling. Atsumu traced his fingers along the dark grain as he lagged behind Sakusa, noting the spot where warm light seeped underneath a door and soft sighs could be heard on the other side. He paused there, a curl of embarrassment and jealousy catching in his throat at hearing something not meant for him. Did Sakusa hear them too as he passed by?

“Coming?” Sakusa beckoned. “Or admiring the moulding?” He had stopped just ahead, body half into a guest room and looking at Atsumu expectantly. 

“‘Course I’m comin’,” he whispered, hoping that the sound didn’t carry through the wall and that the room’s occupants were too busy to hear him lingering outside their door. The light spilling in from the wall of windows illuminated Sakusa’s skin, his face pale and the shadows under his cheekbones that much darker in contrast. 

“No rush, then,” he said, turning into the room and out of sight. 

Atsumu approached the room and stopped himself in the doorway. The guest room was simple, dark wood and traditional fusama doors, a plain western bed frame for a double bed in the middle of the far wall, and a few hardwood furnishings. Bathed in the faded moonlight that filtered through the door and past Atsumu, Sakusa was perched on the corner of the fluffy, moss green bedspread, pulling open the collar of his shirt.

“Which one are you most interested in?” Sakusa asked lightly, while his fingers worked efficiently over the buttons. Like he was a practiced salesman displaying his wares. “I suppose you’ve seen the arm the most, but I doubt you’ve gotten a good look at it.” The fabric of his shirt hung open, bare chest exposed. It fell to the side as he leaned over to turn on a bedside lamp. The old bulb flickered on, throwing its low amber glow across the room. 

“To be honest, I’m surprised it took you this long to ask me about them,” Sakusa mused, standing up and letting the linen slide off his shoulders, though his arms were still in the sleeves. “I would’ve thought you’d be much more nosy about it. Then again--” He paused and lowered his eyes, slowly pulling his wrists through the cuffs and neatly placing the garment on the dresser. “--you’ve always been deceptively accommodating.” 

A shirtless Sakusa was nothing new to Atsumu. But the harsh lights of the Jackals locker room was nothing compared to the single, warm lamp that lit him now. Everything about Sakusa seemed softer here. Even his words, which normally were direct and cutting, had been slowed to gentle rumbles riddled with implication. The hard-won muscles afforded to him by a professional volleyball career stood out in sharp relief, dark moles and freckles fanning across the pale planes of his body like a negative image of stars in the night sky. Atsumu wouldn’t let himself blink. He’d been imagining this, making up scenarios in which he finally got to see these tattoos. Now that the opportunity was being handed to him, it was all he could do to keep his heart rate under control. 

“Are you going to look from across the room?” 

Atsumu realized belatedly he was still standing half in the hall. With a start, he slid the door closed behind him, and walked as close to Sakusa as he dared. Sakusa cocked an eyebrow and offered up his arm for inspection, stepping closer but leaving some air between them. As lightly as he could manage, he grasped Sakusa’s elbow, like a clinical inspection rather than the most intimate thing he’d done in months. He turned it slowly, so that the inside of Sakusa’s bicep was visible, displaying the odd V shape that he’d only gotten glimpses of before.

“I’m not a fragile doll,” Sakusa said in mock affront. “I got stabbed with needles a bunch of times, I can handle you touching me.”

“Can ya?” Atsumu smirked, giving Sakusa’s arm a teasing squeeze. The answering shudder helped him regain some semblance of his confidence. “Ya wanna put that to the test?”

“Don’t make me change my mind,” Sakusa warned, the threat unconvincing. 

“Which one’s this?” Atsumu asked. Sakusa only raised his eyebrows. “Which constellation is this?”

“Pisces.”

“Why’d ya get it?”

“Because I’m a Pisces, Miya,” Sakusa scoffed. 

“Uh huh, sure, didn’t realize ya put stock in that sorta thing, though,” Atsumu said, following the lines with his eyes. “March twentieth.” 

Sakusa nodded, eyes a little wide, and added in a softer voice, “Also, the fish- we had a koi pond.” There seemed to be something else that he wasn’t adding, but Atsumu didn’t prod. 

“Didja have to add freckles to get all the stars?”

Sakusa huffed out a laugh, “Yes,” the sound escaping from his chest, the breath of it tickling the side of Atsumu’s face. “Though not as many as you would think.”

Atsumu prodded lightly at one of the dots he thought was artificial. “Is this one your favorite?”

“No, but I do like it. It was the first one, so it’s a bit sentimental in that way.”

Atsumu released his elbow, letting Sakusa’s arm fall back into place at his side and made eye contact with Sakusa. After months of forcing himself not to gawk at his bare skin, Atsumu held his gaze a little longer, waiting for permission to admire another tattoo. 

“You want to see this one?” Sakusa asked, tearing his eyes away and pointing at the back of his neck. 

Atsumu nodded, giving a small noise of affirmation, and Sakusa turned around.

Delicate lines connected existing freckles and a few added ones; the resulting shape was a box with what could be two bent arms coming off of it, no more than ten centimeters at its longest. “And which is this one?” Atsumu asked in a murmur. He realized he was much closer than before when Sakusa gave a small shiver from the breath at the back of his neck.

“This one is the phoenix constellation.”

“Dunno this one, Omi, tell me ‘bout it,” he said. 

“Well--” Sakusa’s voice seemed a little smaller. Atsumu told himself it was because he was facing the other way. “I guess this one is kind of silly. It’s a bit of a joke between Toya and I.” 

Atsumu brought a hand up to trace the design with a calloused fingertip. Sakusa tensed and relaxed, leaning into the touch. Emboldened, Atsumu let his other hand come up to grip his spiker’s shoulders, his knuckles grazing purposefully up the muscles of his back on it’s way. 

“Do I get to be let in on the joke, or is it a secret?” he asked, pressing his thumb a little harder.

“You know Itachiyama’s motto?” 

Atsumu grunted acknowledgement. Even though “Effort” was the phrase emblazoned on their banners, the unofficial motto of “memento mori” was well known in the highschool circuit. 

“We thought it would be funny if our mascot was an animal that didn’t die. More of a personal mascot for us than a weasel. Sort of convoluted. I guess.” Sakusa spoke breathily as Atsumu absentmindedly kneaded Sakusa’s shoulder with that hand that wasn’t preoccupied with outlining the tattoo. 

“S”nice. Even if ya did die, ya’d be reborn. Not that ya lost all that often.”

“I lost to you. At Nationals.”

“Ya didn’t go down easy. Plus that was so long ago.”

“That may be true, but it did feel like dying a little bit.”

An unguarded Sakusa was uncharted territory for Atsumu. It was terrifying, in a way. On the court it was so easy to read what Sakusa wanted, and now, in the hushed atmosphere of this secret guest room, it was hard to know if he should trust his instincts. Would it be better to lean into touch, to push himself closer to what Sakusa’s body seemed to be begging for? Or would an unwanted advance ruin their chemistry in the game? Maybe it would feel a little like dying, too. He leaned forward pressing his forehead to the tattoo, sending out a silent prayer that he was reading this right. When he spoke, his lips barely brushed the skin. “Is this one your favorite?”

“No,” Sakusa answered, a shudder rolling down his body. 

“Is that so?” Atsumu pondered aloud, letting his hands drop from Sakusa’s broad shoulders, palms skating over his arms as they fell, and stepping backwards. He felt heat churning in his gut at being so close, bubbling under his skin. 

Sakusa turned back to face Atsumu, his eyes impossibly darker than before. Face to face felt so much more intimate, so much closer. Their breaths mingling and their eyes locked onto each other, Atsumu hardly dared to breathe, his throat tightening with anxiety that he had overstepped. With little warning, Sakusa flopped backwards onto the bed behind him, allowing his legs to hang off the side.

“My other ones aren’t really on my torso,” Sakusa began, thumb fidgeting with his belt loop. The action pulled his pants down ever so slightly past his hips. 

Atsumu zeroed in on the new lines that were etched into Sakusa’s skin, so thin and threadlike that he was noticing them now for the first time. His eyes darted back and forth between Sakusa’s face and the tattooed lines peaking just barely out of the waistband of Sakusa’s dark wash jeans. 

“Well, Miya?” Sakusa said petulantly. He let himself fall backwards, leaning on his elbows. “You said you wanted to see my tattoos, didn’t you?” His pout was only made cuter by the rosy blush spreading quickly across his cheeks and chest. “Go ahead and take a good look.”

“Do you really want to show me?” Atsumu asked, fully aware of all the implications. 

“Do you think I’d drag you all through Kozume’s house if I didn’t want to show you?” It could have been a sarcastic defense, but Sakusa had said it with so much vulnerability that Atsumu could only nod and come to kneel at the edge of the bed between Sakusa’s legs. 

From the floor, Sakusa was much too far away. Atsumu lifted himself on his knees and gingerly placed his hands on the sides of Sakusa’s hips, not touching him. He waited there, briefly, and when Sakusa’s face showed no sign of hesitation, he grabbed his hips and hauled him closer to the edge of the bed. Sakusa’s breath came out in a whoosh, surprise on his face at the sudden movement, but a genuine smile on his lips. Another okay. 

He sat back onto his heels and planted his palms firmly on Sakusa’s knees. Sakusa had settled back on his elbows, his head dropped low with dark curls in disarray. Atsumu stared up into his face, keenly aware of how he was being observed as his palms pushed their way up the outside of Sakusa’s legs purposefully, finally coming to rest at the silver belt buckle that adorned his hips. 

“Go on, then,” Sakusa breathed, ever so slightly lifting his hips off the bed. 

Atsumu deftly undid the buckle, no longer interested in taking his time. Each instance of encouragement he’d been given through the night spurred him on, slowly cranking up his arousal from a low simmer into a full blown boil. He swiftly pulled Sakusa’s jeans down, leaving behind the soft boxer briefs that clung to his body. The stiff fabric of the jeans bunched around Sakusa’s ankles, and Atsumu carefully freed his legs, letting his fingers linger on the strong calves in front of him. 

“I’ve seen this one a lot,” Atsumu said, skimming a hand up behind Sakusa’s right knee, but not bothering to actually look at it, instead flicking his gaze back up to the inky black eyes above him. 

“That’s Leo.” 

Atsumu blinked slowly while his hands roamed up the back of Sakusa’s right thigh, only to come back down and rub behind his knee. 

“It’s for Toya, it’s not anything crazy. He has one for me too.”

“Is it a constellation as well?” Atsumu asked, as if he could possibly care about anyone’s body other than the long, muscular, perfect one stretched out before him now. 

Sakusa shook his head. “Our high school numbers.” 

“Interesting,” Atsumu hummed, though it was the least interesting thing he could think of. He turned his head, looking towards Sakusa’s left thigh now, switching his right hand over from one leg to the other. “So if Komori-kun’s isn’t your favorite, what about this one?” 

He let his hand wander even further up that thigh, scraping lightly with his dull fingernails once he reached the tattoo. It was higher on his thigh than Atsumu remembered from his past glimpses of it, but this time, he recognized the vague shape of the constellation imprinted onto Sakusa’s pale flesh. 

“Canis Major?” he asked, pressing harder into the muscle, and received a shakily exhaled “yes” in response. A dark mole sat in place of Sirius, standing out among the other real and inked stars. This tattoo was larger than the others, though still low profile, taking up the top third of Sakusa’s thigh. Atsumu leaned forward to nuzzle at it, hyper aware of how close his mouth was to the growing length trapped inside his spiker’s underwear. He had been doing a good job ignoring it so far, but now, so close that he could feel the warmth of it on his cheek, it was all he could do to keep from adjusting his own erection. 

“For the Jackals, I assume?” Another nodded yes that Atsumu couldn’t look away from. Sakusa’s expression was pinched, like the threads of self control were fraying right before his eyes and Atsumu continued to rub his cheek against the muscle. “I can see why this one is yer favorite, Omi. S’very beautiful.”

“It’s not,” Sakusa said hastily.

“‘Course it is,” Atsumu replied, surprised. He turned his head to press his nose to a star on the soft skin of his inner thigh. “They’re all beautiful, ‘cuz they’re on you.” 

Sakusa let out a small whimper, which morphed into a sigh. “Atsu,” he began, the nickname wrenching Atsumu’s attention back up to his face. “That one is not my favorite.” Dark eyes flickered away from where Atsumu lay against his thigh, to further up where leg stopped and hips began, just underneath the thin fabric that protected Sakusa’s modesty. 

“O-oh,” Atsumu faltered, the aimless roving of his hands halting. He’d completely forgotten about the fifth tattoo, the one that had started this whole elaborate strip tease. “That’s yer favorite one, huh?” 

“Mhm.” Sakusa’s eyes fluttered closed, and Atsumu could feel the muscles under his cheek and hands tense in anticipation. 

“Then, s’pose I should take a look. Seein’ as, seein’ as ya brought me out here to show me. Would that be alright with ya?” As much as he wanted to be cool and suave, be even a quarter as seductive as Kiyoomi was without trying, he couldn’t help his frazzled nerves. He felt his heart hammering in his chest, needed the explicit yes to soothe the uncertainty he felt rising in his throat. 

“Please, Atsu.” Sakusa gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing and pulse thrumming wildly underneath Atsumu’s thumb. “I’d like you to see it.”

Atsumu, pressing up onto his knees again for better leverage, looked up at Sakusa. “If ya insist.” Still though, he couldn’t bear to fully undress him, not yet. His thumbs had stilled just under the hem of each of the leg holes of the briefs. Slowly, he hooked them under, keeping the rest of his hand on top of the fabric, skirting around the bulge barely concealed by the garment and reaching with his fingers to tug at the elastic of the waist band. Centimeter by centimeter, the beginnings of the tattoo slowly revealed itself as he pulled down with his right hand, his left remaining heavily in place on Sakusa’s hip bone.

“So, which constellation is this?” 

“Vulpecula.”

“What’s that mean?”

Sakusa looked pointedly away, focusing on a far off corner of the room. 

“It means ‘the little fox’.” 

Atsumu swallowed thickly, his voice caught in his throat. It had to be a coincidence. Just because he liked foxes, went to Inarizaki, had several fox-related, fan-made keychains on his backpack, and had made his group chat avi a fox, those things didn’t mean it was for him. He knew Sakusa. Sakusa always did things purposely and thoroughly. Just because he had been harboring a crush/tattoo infatuation didn’t mean Sakusa felt the same. His hand tightened in its place around Kiyoomi’s hip, the other stretching out the fabric, slowly ruining the garment. “And uh, what inspired ya to get this one?”

“I got it for someone important to me.”

It couldn’t be for him. ‘Samu would say his head was too big for assuming so. But then again, how fucked up would it be if it wasn’t for him? Would Sakusa really bring him out here to talk about another player? His fingers itched in place, dying to press them closer together, to meet in the middle around Sakusa’s half erection. He inspected the tattoo instead, afraid to look anywhere else. It didn’t look like anything, really. Like all of the tattoos, the lines were as thin and the shape as vague as the ones ancient astronomers imagined into the night sky. These ones were sort of like a Y, freckles acting as dots to connect. Yet this tattoo did something to Atsumu’s heart, to his mind. It got his blood racing, made him want to sink his teeth into a mole that lay above a thrumming pulse point. 

“Oh?” Atsumu forced out, aiming for playfulness but probably sounding strained. “Do they know ya got it?” Sakusa nodded. “I bet they love it.”

“I really hope so. It’s someone who,” Sakusa’s voice cracked a little as he continued, “who motivates me to be a better player. Someone I admire quite a bit.”

“Wow, Omi-Omi, that’s real high praise, comin’ from you. Must be one of the best players in the league.” 

“I don’t know that I’d go that far.”

“Well then, who is it?”

Sakusa squirmed a little on the bed, and Atsumu held him that much tighter in place. 

“Who, Kiyoomi?” The question was more of an exhale than anything else, the breath of air heavy as Kiyoomi’s barely clothed cock gave an interested twitch. “Who’d ya get it for?”

“Please don’t make me say it.”

“I need t’hear it.”

Sakusa’s eyes turned back on Atsumu, dilated and black and full of softness. 

“I got it for you.”

Atsumu’s hands tensed, his voice stuck, refusing to look away. 

“Are ya serious?”

Sakusa nodded. “Of course I am.”

Relief flooded his system, only to be replaced with shock. It felt too good to be true, had to be a trick. But no. Sakusa is honest to a fault. His words and actions are purposeful. That Sakusa, who always does everything right, always follows things through, would get a tattoo for him was probably the highest honor he could get. 

“Since when?”

“Since you beat us at Nationals. I couldn’t look at fox things for weeks, I was so angry.”

“‘Til ya stopped being angry and turned horny, huh?”

“Don’t ruin this.”

“I don’t mean to ruin it, just,” Atsumu huffed out a breath, “come down here, will ya? I need t’kiss ya right now.”

Sakusa practically folds himself in half in his effort to bring his mouth to Atsumu. He presses their mouths together, taking charge of the kiss more than Atsumu would have thought, especially in the awkward position. Strong, strong, so very strong, was all Atsumu could think moments later as he was hauled off the balls of his feet and up on top of Sakusa’s very naked body. 

“Now this isn’t very fair, Omi,” Atsumu said, teasing and breathless, sitting up to straddle Sakusa’s lap properly. “Give me a chance to kiss you properly.”

“You want to talk about unfair, Miya, you’re still fully dressed.” Sakusa’s attempt at a scowl was unimpressive under his bratty pout. It was hard to take him seriously with his eyebrows knitted together while he tugged at Atsumu’s tee. 

“I thought I was ‘Atsu’ now.” He dropped himself down to cage Sakusa in and got a little whine in return. “Tell ya what,” he purred, letting his voice drop low and his mouth hover in Sakusa’s hairline. “I’ll be Atsu and you can be Kiyoomi, hmm?”

“Yes,” Sakusa breathed, “Please, yes,”

“Please, who?”

“Atsu, please,” Kiyoomi sighed, fisting Atsumu’s shirt in his hands and trying to tug it up, “Please please, touch me.”

“I really can’t deny ya,” Atsumu confessed, and he swooped in to kiss Kiyoomi again, slowly this time, tenderly, like he was a teenager with no intention of getting to second base. Like it was a kiss while reuniting at an airport, or the kind of kiss you give at midnight on new years. It was deep, full of promises that Atsumu tried to say without words. 

Kiyoomi’s hands wandered up and down Atsumu’s torso, rucking up his shirt as they went. “You’re too clothed,” he mumbled, breaking apart from their kiss. “Let me feel you.”

“Whatever you say.”

Atsumu sat back up, shucking off his shirt smoothly. Kiyoomi chased the motion, sitting up with him and placing kisses over Atsumu’s chest the moment the skin was exposed. Atsumu’s arms draped around Kiyoomi’s neck, fingers splaying up into the roots of Kiyoomi’s hair and pulling at the scalp without combing through, careful not to disturb the curl pattern. It earned him a soft groan that pulled Kiyoomi’s mouth off his pecs. 

“Pants, Atsu, pants,” Kiyoomi murmured.

Atsumu obliged, clumsily standing up and yanking off his jeans as quickly as possible. Kiyoomi made a grabbing motion, trying to pull him back into his lap, but instead Atsumu settled back onto the floor between Kiyoomi’s legs. 

“I wanna get a better look at this, seein’ that it’s for me an’ all.” He dipped his fingers into the waistband of Kiyoomi’s too tight boxer briefs, desperate to unveil the straining erection underneath.

Sakusa pressed his hips upwards, whether in search of friction or to aid in the removal of the briefs, it couldn’t be known. When his cock finally sprung free, bouncing off his abdomen, and the underwear was tossed to the floor, Atsumu struggled between staring at it, obscenely swollen and red where it lay on his hip, or the threadlike tattoo partially obscured beneath it. 

It was a lot to take in all at once. 

Kiyoomi’s hair was trimmed neatly, the dark hair at his base barely long enough to start to curl. His thighs looked strong, naturally, framing the deep V of his torso beautifully. His cock stood out from between them, long and veiny and desperate to be touched. 

“Omi,” Atsumu breathed out reverently. “Why’d ya get this one all the way up here? Ya hidin’ it?”

“No, I-”

“When were ya gonna show me, huh? Looks like this is all healed up.” Atsumu moved his hand up Kiyoomi’s left thigh, fingers pressing down on the muscle. As he pushed up, his hand curled around Kiyoomi’s long cock. 

“Just, ah- just waiting for the right time I guess,” Sakusa groaned, while Atsumu’s hand kept moving, his thumb stroking up the thick vein as he swapped his grip from one hand to the other.

“Sorry, had ta get this outta the way an’ get a good look at what ya put here just for me,” Atsumu said teasingly. He placed a tender kiss on top of the tattoo, his left hand barely moving along Kiyoomi’s length. A small grumble came from above him, and Atsumu answered with a bite to one of the stars. 

“How did I know you’d be like this?”

“Can’t help myself,” Atsumu replied, giving a marginally firmer stroke and peppering a few kisses closer and closer to the base of Kiyoomi’s cock. “Been thinking about this for so long, I gotta make the most of it.”

“ _You’ve_ been thinking about this for so long,” Kiyoomi huffed. Atsumu gave a lick to the bottom of the shaft.

Atsumu moved up, his thumb rubbing lightly at the head of his penis. He stroked down firmly a few times, delighting in the gasp he earned, and placed a wet, open mouthed kiss at the very tip. 

“I have, ‘been waiting a real long time.” 

“Wha—“ Kiyoomi sputtered. 

Atsumu licked at the head more purposefully, his hand stroking insistently. He thought about how his little lit match was long past what could be considered “carrying a torch” and was more of a full on wildfire now. “Is since the All Japan camp long enough?”

Kiyoomi blushed and pursed his lips. “It’s long enough.”

“Glad you agree,” Atsumu said, licking a long stripe up the side. “‘Cause it sure felt like a long time.” Another teasing lick up the other side. “An’ now that I got ya right where I want ya, I’m gonna enjoy it.”

“Miya, shut the fuck - aaaahh—“ Kiyoomi exclaimed, words turning to gasps when Atsumu sank his mouth down onto him. 

He let himself get lost in it. The bobbing motion of up and down, pulling his hand along to follow his lips and cover the part of Kiyoomi that didn’t fit into his mouth. Kiyoomi’s sighs spurred him on, and Atsumu found himself trying to take him a little deeper with each pass. He let one hand circle the base so that he could rub softly at Kiyoomi’s balls while his other hand dropped down to his own boxers. He took himself into his right hand and stroked hastily, moaning at the relief. Kiyoomi’s hips twitched up, fucking into Atsumu’s mouth to chase the vibrations of his moan. 

It seemed Kiyoomi was desperate to maintain some illusion of control, but it was clear to Atsumu that the moment he’d latched his lips around Kiyoomi’s cock, he was the one calling the shots. When he gripped Kiyoomi’s thighs to hold him in place, he became pliant and obedient, happy to take whatever he was given. The hand that Kiyoomi had tangled in Atsumu’s hair was not so much demanding, but rather another way for Atsumu to keep tabs on how close he could get Kiyoomi to the edge. 

When the hand became more insistent, the whimpers above him transformed into drawn out moans, Atsumu pulled off, a trail of saliva breaking off and falling onto his hand which he clamped around the base of Kiyoomi’s cock. 

“Noooooo,” Kiyoomi whined pitifully. 

“What? Were ya ‘bout to cum for me?” Atsumu gave lazy licks to the tip where it dribbled just a little. He started drawing long lines in the saliva still coating his shaft. It shouldn’t have been surprising that Kiyoomi was so sensitive, but each moan that Atsumu earned felt more and more like an impossible prize for him. 

“Why do you have to do this?” Kiyoomi’s voice sounded cracked, certainly not as ruined as Atsumu’s would be by the end of this, but still gravelly and desperate. 

“Wanna take my time with ya, Omi.” He emphasized this by grasping his dick properly once again, giving a purposeful pump. Kiyoomi gasped. “Wanna make you feel good.” Another slick pump of his hand. 

“It’d feel good if you let me cum.”

“Why don’t ya, then?” Atsumu asked, dropping his mouth down again and bobbing a few times before popping off as lewdly as he could. “What’s stopping ya, Kiyoomi? Go ahead and cum.” 

Kiyoomi whined, frustrated and pathetic. 

Atsumu began lapping at his balls, sucking one into his mouth. Kiyoomi cried out at that, and Atsumu released it. 

“Fuck, Atsu, you’re going to kill me,” Kiyoomi groaned. 

Atsumu only licked lower, happy to put his mouth to good use. He kept his hand moving, firm caresses to keep Kiyoomi on edge while his tongue dipped lower and lower, his other hand pushing apart his thighs. 

Kiyoomi gasped when Atsumu finally circled his rim, a little cry that could have been heard from the hallway. Even just with the tip of his tongue prodding at the muscle, Atsumu could feel Kiyoomi writhing, bucking into his hand and back onto his tongue. 

“Not yet,” Kiyoomi rushed out, “not here. Wanna do this properly.”

“What’s not proper enough ‘bout this?” Atsumu said, punctuating his question by spearing his tongue into his ass. “ S’not meant to be proper.”

Kiyoomi whimpered pitifully, “Atsu-- aahh-- I’ve got lube back at the hotel.”

Atsumu hummed thoughtfully, palming at himself. “Hmmm, that’s a good thought. Wouldn’t want to ruin Kozume’s nice sheets.”

“Pleaseee--” 

He could tell Kiyoomi was coming to the end of his rope. He himself was too hard to want to drag it out too much longer, and if getting Kiyoomi to the hotel was what it took, he’d do anything. He gave a small bite to Kiyoomi’s thigh, close to the Jackals tattoo, and set his mouth back to work on his cock, taking it as deep as he could go.

“Atsu--” he sobbed out, not able to take much more. “I’m close, I’m so close, I--”

Atsumu swallowed purposefully, sucking hard as Kiyoomi came in his mouth, using his hands to work him through it. Kiyoomi shuddered underneath him, grabbing at Atsumu’s hair when he became oversensitive. 

Atsumu’s own erection felt impossibly sensitive after being ignored for so long. Kiyoomi must have sensed this, even as he breathed heavily after his own orgasm. “Let’s get to the hotel,” he exhaled shakily. “I know you’re probably aching and I hate not finishing things.” 

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Atsumu said, straightening up. He took a second to admire Kiyoomi’s naked body splayed across the bedspread, three of his tattoos visible just for him. He kissed at Canis Major, and then up at Vulpecula, and even further along his torso on moles that had yet to be turned into constellations of stars. He kissed his own constellations, connecting the dots all the way up to Kiyoomi’s neck, leaning his body onto Kiyoomi’s as he went. Atsumu got a small giggle out of Kiyoomi as he let his full body weight rest on him, nuzzling into his neck and kissing under his chin. He ground his hard-on into Kiyoomi’s thigh, the pressure of it both relieving and too, too much. 

“Get off me,” Kiyoomi groused. “Or do you not want to get back to my room?”

“‘M just admirin’ ya, Kiyoomi,'' Atsumu whispered into his neck. “Yer too beautiful.”

Kiyoomi didn’t say anything, no sharp response at all. Atsumu pulled back suddenly to make sure he hadn’t upset him, and instead saw a furiously red Kiyoomi trying to hide his face. 

“Embarrassing,” he muttered.

“Nah, just true.” Atsumu stood and started to dress himself. 

“Don’t buckle those all the way,” Kiyoomi said, as he buttoned his shirt. “I’m going to suck you off in the car.”

Now that really got his blood pumping, an electric thrill zipping down his spine. They dressed quickly and neatened the room, leaving it as pristine as though no illicit activities had taken place. Silently as he could, he followed Kiyoomi back down the hallway. Thank god he and ‘Samu had taken separate cars tonight. Honestly he had no idea what time it really was, but certainly by now no one would be looking for him and they could sneak out unnoticed. Assuming they could find their way out of this labyrinth of a house. Karaoke must have ended long ago. The whole house was quiet and still and dark. They made their way out of the long, panelled hallway only to stop dead in their tracks. 

In the muted light cast through the kitchen by the stove hood’s lamp stood Kuroo Tetsurou, wearing only boxers and holding a large glass of water. His hair was atrocious, standing in all directions like it did in a high school photo that was on Kozume’s fridge, except much worse. His shoulders and chest were covered in red and purple marks, and on his face was the sleaziest grin Atsumu had ever seen. 

“Gentlemen,” Kuroo said, holding his water up in a toast. 

“Kuroo,” Atsumu said, hoping it wasn’t obvious that they’d been up to the same sort of activities and knowing that was completely impossible, given that he was still hard as a rock.

Kiyoomi nodded brusquely and without looking at Kuroo longer than he had to. He headed back out towards the entryway, not waiting for Atsumu.

“You guys have a good night?” Kuroo asked, conversationally, as if he wasn’t nearly naked in front of a stranger. 

Before Atsumu could formulate a response, a voice hissed “Tetsu,” from the hallway. 

Atsumu looked back around the corner and saw the glasses-less head of Tsukishima Kei poking out of a different guest room than the one he and Kiyoomi had helped themselves to. 

“Duty calls,” Kuroo said, topping off the water in his cup. “Don’t worry, he couldn’t see you. Absolutely useless without his glasses.” He didn’t wait for Atsumu, just began sauntering back down the hallway. 

Atsumu gave a little shake of his head, and scampered off in the direction Kiyoomi had fled in, praying that no one else had lingered for an after party. 

“Where have you been?” Kiyoomi hissed, when Atsumu met him outside the door. Atsumu shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s go.”

Atsumu couldn’t agree more. He unlocked the car and they took off, speeding through the streets of Tokyo. He was desperate to see those tattoos once more tonight, and he knew that Kiyoomi always finished what he started.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! 
> 
> Thank you to AO3 user winwinism for the beta read and also the motivation to actually finish a Haikyuu fic <3 
> 
> This has been sitting in my brain for a long time, and I've consumed a lot of skts content so I am glad to contribute what I can. 
> 
> Title is a Madeline Miller quote


End file.
